


deep-shadowed from the candle’s guttering gold

by Grennusona (angrennufuin)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, POV Akechi Goro, POV Second Person, Short, Unreliable Narrator, Watching Someone Sleep, murder is discussed but does not actually happen (yet), no beta we die like men, tagged for akeshu but it's not VERY shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 21:18:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20785226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angrennufuin/pseuds/Grennusona
Summary: Joker has a habit of quietly effacing himself from perception, but it has never worked on you -- or not recently, anyway. Which is a natural consequence of becoming more involved in your rival’s life. Of course you’d be more aware of his presence than previously; of course you’d be able to see through his pathological lurking.Something of a style-test. Arguably written for #GoroWeek2019 day 2: Angst, but mainly written as an excuse to shoehorn my favorite poem into a fic title. Spoilers for the end of November.





	deep-shadowed from the candle’s guttering gold

“Okay,” says Joker. He adjusts his crimson gloves, sweeps his gaze across his team of loyal idiots. He looks calm, relaxed; try as you might you can’t discern the exhaustion you know must weight his bones. “How are we feeling?”

Your so-called compatriots hesitate, or they mumble noncommittally. From the corner of your eye, you see Nijima the younger sitting up ramrod-straight, hands folded in her lap. She is very intentionally _ not _ trembling even a little.

The second you notice this, you also notice Joker noticing it. You can almost see the gears in his head turning, balancing his desire to keep the other Thieves safe with his desire to push forward, sweep through this palace in record time.

You can sympathize. You’ve had about enough of this bullshit, yourself.

You wait until Joker opens his mouth and then cut him off, with _ just _ enough plausible deniability to avoid rudeness. The Detective Prince is _ never _ rude; Crow the Phantom Thief is occasionally, but only out of awkwardness. “Forgive me, Leader,” you say smoothly. “It seems we’re all a little more tired than we thought, haha. However…” and here you pause, resting your chin between thumb and forefinger-- “I feel that turning back now would be unsatisfying?”

“Yeah!” chimes in Sakamoto, immediately. Sakamoto would probably argue for continuing with two broken legs and a concussion. “We’re almost to the top -- we could totally push through.”

Joker drums his long fingers on the table. _ Go on, _ you urge him silently. _ You know you want to. _ “What about the rest of you? Queen?”

Nijima makes a quick, aborted gesture. “I really want to save Sis as soon as possible,” she says, “but if we’re running out of energy--”

“We’re _ not_,” says Takamaki. “Or-- _ I’m _ not, not _ that _ bad, and I want to help Sae-san too.”

Ah, that must be the sign for the peanut gallery to join in. _ All _ of them have to express how they’re not tired, they can definitely keep going for the sake of both Nijimas, really, let’s do this! It leaves a sour taste in your mouth, uncomfortably similar to jealousy. _ Would they do the same for me? _

...On second thought, they probably actually would, which is even worse. If ever a group of people _ deserved _ to be betrayed--

Joker raises a hand, and the chatter cuts off at once (you experience a sudden resurgence of -- surely it isn’t _ actually _ jealousy. It’s easy to command a gaggle of teens; you’d like to see Joker try his dauntless leader routine on the Tokyo Metropolitan Police). “We’ll take an hour break.” A chorus of arguments break out, but Joker effortlessly speaks over them: “That’s final. Get the healing done that needs to get done, rest a bit, and then we’ll keep going. We’re no good to Sae-san if we let her Shadow kick our asses because we didn’t practice some self-care. Mona, Panther, you’re on the healing. Skull, rest your leg or I’ll have Mona sit on you. Clear?”

He’s so decisive. _Arrogant_, you’d say, except you know that’s not true. You take a step forward to needle him about it, and get corralled by Takamaki and her Diaramas. 

By the time she’s done with you, the safe room has settled into a somewhat subdued holding pattern. Okumura and Nijima are talking softly, heads tilted towards one another, bodies tilted away. Kitagawa is sketching again, steady-handed despite the haunted look in his eyes, and Sakura is slumped next to him. She’s not critiquing his subject matter, which is uncharacteristic. Even Sakamoto is sprawled in a casino chair, head tipped back, foot tapping restlessly. You are as perfect as ever, despite Takamaki brooding on you like a mother hen -- but for everyone else, it seems Joker was right to call this rest.

Joker… Joker is nowhere to be seen. 

Finding him isn’t hard. You could practically do it with your eyes closed -- just listen for the most silent corner of the already-quiet room. Or track the faint odor of coffee, spices, and cat hair. Joker has a habit of quietly effacing himself from perception, but it has never worked on you -- or not recently, anyway. Which is a natural consequence of becoming more involved in your rival’s life. Of course you’d be more aware of his presence than previously; of course you’d be able to see through his pathological lurking.

Odd, though. Kurusu-in-his-aspect-as-Joker doesn’t tend to vanish like this. Kurusu-in-his-aspect-as-barista, sure. How many times (before you learned his trick) did he sneak up on you in Leblanc? But Joker is a confident leader, a flamboyantly laughing rogue, and he doesn’t hide from his own friends.

Nonetheless -- you peer into a corner shaded by an oversized vase of ferns. A few splotches of white and red in the dark slowly resolve into the legendary leader of the Phantom Thieves: huddled in on himself, head tipped back against the wall, mouth open, eyes shut. Out like a light.

You look at him for a moment, head tilted to the side. The _ friendly _ thing to do is to let him sleep, maybe rib him a little about it when he wakes up. _ I didn’t know gentleman thieves _ got _ tired, Kurusu. _ Or maybe, _ Haha, so the rest was for _ you_, then? _ Or, _ Did you know you drool when you sleep, Leader? It’s quite cute_.

...Maybe not that last one.

He isn’t, anyway. Cute. Or even drooling. Joker’s elegant mask is balanced on one of his knees. His bare face is colorless and without expression under the casino’s lights, long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. If his chest is moving, you can’t see it; he looks like a marble statue.

He looks like a corpse.

The casino must have air conditioning, because you’re suddenly shivering even in the layers of your prince costume. Kurusu must be cold, too, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t stir. Why doesn’t he stir? Nausea sloshes in your stomach. How many days until you steal Nijima-the-elder’s treasure? How many days until Kurusu is arrested? Until you walk into an interrogation room, press a gun to his head, and--

The angle of his wrist, draped across his lap, seems impossibly limp.

You lurch forward without planning the motion, nearly tripping over Kurusu, grabbing his shoulder roughly -- his eyes will stay closed, his body cold under your hand, the force of your contact will expose the bullet hole in his forehead --

Kurusu starts, fumbles for his mask, shuts his mouth. Blinks at you stupidly. “‘Kechi?” he mumbles. His eyes are terribly wide, terribly gray, terribly unprotected. Terribly alive. 

“You were sleeping,” you say, because you’re a complete idiot who can’t manage a single conversation.

Kurusu blinks again, and immediately becomes Joker, watchful and calculating. Even the muscles of his face sit differently. “Sorry -- what’s wrong? Is the cognition shifting?”

“No,” you tell him, forcing a television smile onto your face. “No, I apologize for alarming you. It’s only that our hour of rest is nearly up.”

“Oh, shit. Really?”

“Mm.” It's hardly the worst lie he's believed from you, at least. You go to move away, but he catches your wrist. He is smiling ruefully up at you. His grip on you is gentler than yours on him. His glove is the color of blood.

“Thanks, Crow,” Joker says, voice rough with sleep and sincerity. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.

“Mm-hmm,” you say, and pull away. You can’t get through this palace fast enough.

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first Persona fic! How do we feel about 2nd-person narration? How do we feel about my characterization? Let me know in the comments -- concrit is very welcome!
> 
> Title and inspiration from [The Dug-Out by Siegfried Sassoon](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dug-out/).


End file.
